


A shadow of myself.

by Myra_Bones



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV), Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Doppelganger, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myra_Bones/pseuds/Myra_Bones
Summary: Bella is broken when Edward leaves her. Damon is broken when he's rejected one too many times by Elena.They meet by coincidence, and grow close. Can they heal each other? And can they fight off everything that wants to tear them apart?((Or: Bella just so happens to be a Doppelganger, meets Damon, and gets pulled down into a world of chaos and love.))





	1. Prologue

She felt empty, hollow. As if somehow had taken away everything that made her human, had removed every emotion she’d ever felt and hadn’t ever bothered to repair the hole left behind. And in a way, she thought sardonically, that was exactly what had happened

Edward had abandoned her.

No. He hadn’t just abandoned her. He had done so, so much more. If he’d left, simply disappearing one day, her heart would have been broken. If the night after the party had been the last time she’d ever seen him, she would have been absolutely devastated. But maybe, with time and guidance, she would have recovered. Maybe she’d have been able to move past her time in Forks and look back with fondness.

But Edward hadn’t just left. He’d taken her apart with words meant to wound, and wound they did. They cut under her skin and right into her heart. She was sure it had been severed altogether, meant to leave with him. She’d first felt empty that night in the woods, as she knelt down onto the leaf-covered ground and screamed her heart out. She’d thought, for the first time, that she wouldn’t heal from this. Never.

He’d taken everything away from her, she figured out the next day. He hadn’t just left, he’d taken anything to remind her of _them _.__ Any of them. Her gifts, her photographs… He’d completely erased every piece of evidence of his existence, and it broke her apart into a thousand pieces. She broke down once more, cried until the tears stopped __flowing, until her chest hurt from the sobs.__

Eventually, she found herself curled up on the floor, her eyes unseeing. She wasn’t upset anymore, she realized after an eternity. She wasn’t sobbing or crying absent tears, she was just staring at nothing. It was the first time she’d truly thought of herself as empty, but it fit perfectly. She felt nothing.

She thought, guiltily, that she’d rather be empty than broken.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time had been entirely coincidental. She hadn’t even noticed how hard she was scratching her arm until the scent of blood invaded her nose, and she nearly fainted.

Except she didn’t. Isabella Swan, the girl who could fall to the floor from a paper cut, stared at the scratch on her arm with nothing less than mild curiosity. Blood welled up in the wound, spilling over onto her arm. She followed the trail with her eyes until a single drop fell down to the floor.

_Panic, and pain. Overwhelming, burning through her mind. Her legs hurt, everything hurt, but she pushed herself further and further. She heard a roar behind her, and screamed as two arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, pulling her into the man behind her. Pain exploded in her neck, the skin torn and bleeding-_

* * *

 

The second time had been less coincidental, but still not entirely intended.

She’d been cooking for Charlie, her mind a million miles away. She’d stopped herself just seconds before grabbing the knife, realizing she’d nearly grabbed it by the blade.

Bella paused, looking down at the innocent-looking knife and her hand hovering just centimetres over it. Her thoughts travelled back to the scratch on her arm – carefully hidden by her long sleeves – and before she could even make a conscious decision, her fingers had wrapped around the sharp edge and squeezed.

_A knife pressed against her throat, threatening and promising all at once. She felt her breath catch in her throat, a small whimper bursting forth. In return, the knife pressed deeper, just barely abstaining from breaking through the fragile layers of skin. She saw fire around her, smelt spices, and closed her eyes, prayers forming on her lips._

Charlie found her half an hour later when he came home, staring at the knife in her hands with equal parts horror and fascination. She’d convinced him it had been an accident, that she hadn’t been paying attention. Luckily, he seemed to believe her, and merely helped bandage her hand and sent her upstairs with a wave of his hand.

* * *

 

The third time had been on purpose.

She wasn’t sure what pushed her to do it, the flashes and images that she’d gotten both times she’d gotten hurt – images that confused her immensely, since she was certain she’d never had her neck ripped open, nor a knife held to her throat – or the strange feeling of relief she felt when she felt the pain. Either way, one of Charlie’s knives went missing, the sharp one he used for delicately skinning fish.

It was almost daunting to be doing it on purpose now, but she pushed on. Her grip was firm, and she was shaking just a bit, but something inside of her was nudging her forward, telling her to do it. If she could split the skin and watch the blood well up, she would be good.

A part of her thought it was ironic. A simple paper cut had torn her world apart, had shattered her future and her heart. And here she was, about to draw more of that life-changing blood. She didn’t care. There was no Jasper here to go mad with bloodlust, no Edward to push her backwards and hurt her even more. She was the only one here, she was the only one who would see. Her little secret.

She pushed the knife down, gasping as it cut through her skin like butter, leaving a deep gash that immediately started bleeding. She let the knife drop onto the bed, her eyes trained on the red trails that left spots on her covers.

She stared at the wound for hours, and when she finally did rest, her head was laid upon her arm, her lips pressed against the cut. She didn’t wake screaming, a first in many months. She wasn’t disappointed there had been no images this time; this time, it had been almost pure. It belonged solely to her.

She was almost proud when she realized it would form a scar. The first of many.

* * *

 

She didn’t know why she was here. She’d needed to get away from school, from concerned looks and smiling faces, from chaos and noise. She needed peace and quiet. She needed to be alone, somewhere she could think.

She’d driven to the edge of the forest mechanically, only realizing where she was when she stared ahead, her engine long cold. A short trek from here, was the meadow. Their meadow. A place both tainted and pure. It held memories of _him_ , but for once, they were only good ones.

She was already halfway down the path by the time she realised she’d gotten out of the car.

Her breath caught in her throat when she stumbled through the trees and into the clearing, falling to her knees as her heart _burned_. Images flashed before her eyes, her own this time, and she _screamed_ , the sound pure pain and anguish. She screamed until her throat was sore, until her voice had left her altogether, and still she sat, hands clutching fistfuls of grass. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, the cold permeating through to the bone, freezing her muscles in place. She wasn’t sure when she’d closed her eyes, squeezing until spots had appeared over her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long she was stuck in her own mind, replaying painful memories one after another. All she knew when she was startled out of her past was that she was in trouble.

His voice was like velvet and butter, smooth and slippery all at once. He didn’t have to speak loudly to get through to her; his voice echoed around the clearing as easily as her sound of anguish had. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he circled around her. It took actual effort to raise her head and meet his red eyes.

‘’Laurent,’’ she muttered, her voice quiet and rough. Maybe she’d injured her vocal with all the screaming. Maybe she’d never speak normally again.

He looked the same as he always had, of course, and a part of her was glad. Here was real, tangible proof that she hadn’t been insane. That she hadn’t spent months in a fantasy. Laurent was real, and as terrifying as that was, it was also a relief. Because if Laurent was real, then so were the Cullens.

She noticed his eyes within seconds, but she found she wasn’t afraid. She’d grown accustomed to red, taken comfort in it. Her left fist clenched tightly, and she felt the corresponding ache in the bandaged skin. She would die by red, she thought. How poetic.

''Bella,'' he greeted, and it took her a second to remember she’d spoken his name. He went off into a monologue at the apparent invitation, but she couldn’t find it in herself to pay much attention. Instead, she looked up at him, not at all surprised when he revealed his intention to make her his meal.

She was, however, surprised to hear another voice behind her, this one made of suppressed danger and honey and silk. There was an undercurrent of _something_ there, something that told her to duck and hide. Danger and allure wrapped in one package.

''I think not.''

His voice isn’t quiet, but it isn’t loud. He could be talking about the weather, or dinner, or groceries. Her life is as mundane as any of those things, she thinks, and he certainly lets it show. She turns to look at him, wanting a face to go with the voice.

His face is as dark and dangerous as he is. His brows are furrowed just a bit, and his head is tilted to the side, as if he’s curious. He doesn’t spare a glance at her, his eyes focused on Laurent. A part of her wants to warn him, tell him to run away, but the words die in her throat before she could try forming them. She doesn’t know what it is about this man, whether it’s the way he holds himself or the way the corner of his lips is tugged upwards into a smirk. Maybe it’s the air of danger practically curling off him. Whatever it is, she had no doubt in her mind that this man didn’t consider Laurent a threat.

If the stranger hadn’t made that clear enough by casually placing his hands in his pockets, Laurent would have done it all on his own. Where previously, he prowled like a panther, looking at her like a cat playing with a mouse, now he was still. His eyes were trained on the newcomer, widened with something akin to fear. He had been a predator, now he was prey.

''We can always share, my friend,'' Laurent tried to recover as smoothly as he could, his own lips tugging into a clumsy grin. Obviously, he did want to roll over and submit, either his vampiric instincts or his own pride not allowing him, but he was willing to make concessions. That told her enough.

It was clear, however, that the stranger didn’t care for the suggestion. He raised one eyebrow when Laurent spoke, looking almost amused. As if Laurent was a child who had said something particularly funny.

''How generous,'' he eventually responded, taking a few slow steps forward. Bella could swear she’d stopped breathing when he reached forward and lightly brushed her hair away from her neck. Laurent grinned in equal parts victory and relief, obviously under the same impression she was. They were both proven wrong with his next words. ''But dinner for a first date is a bit cliché, isn’t it, sweetheart?''

Laurent froze once more and took a few stumbling steps backwards, and the man’s teeth appeared in a feral grin, but Bella paid attention to neither. Suddenly, she was all the more aware of the hand on her neck as a soft whisper of a thought pressed to the back of her mind.

_'Don’t look,'_ she thought, and confusion clouded her features for a moment before she risked another glance upwards. His gaze didn’t stray from Laurent, but his grip on her shoulder tightened for just a second. Clearly an acknowledgement. A moment later he released her, stalking towards his real prey.

Despite the warning, as well-intended as it undoubtedly was, she didn’t look away. She watched as Laurent was taken by the throat, watched the rest of his body drop to the floor a second later. The man was efficient in his work, but clearly releasing pent-up anger. She could hear Laurent’s screams as his body was torn into pieces, each part meticulously thrown onto a growing pile. She watched in fascinated horror as a man was murdered before her very eyes.

When the stranger tossed the last body part onto the pile and glanced her way, he seemed surprised. It was quickly covered up, of course, but not before she could see it. He’d clearly expected her to look away at the very least, maybe cover her eyes or try to run while she still could. Instead, she’d stayed, hearing the horrifying noises and cocking her head to the side.

The man pulled a lighter from her pocket and flicked it open before seeming to think for a second. Then, looking almost curious as to her response, he held it towards her. Not in a threat, in an offer. She could almost hear him say it – Laurent had threatened her life. It was hers to take, if she wanted it.

She stood up on shaky knees, her hands finally releasing their tightly clenched fists. Her entire body felt weak, both because of the cramped position in a very cold clearing and because she was almost scary thin, but as she walked towards the man and accepted the lighter she felt powerful.

She clicked it on, her eyes focused on the flames bursting forth. For a moment she wondered how it would feel to press it to her own skin, but it quickly passed. The lighter had a much better purpose and she already had her outlet.

Instead, she crouched down on one knee and extended the little metal box. She held it towards what could be a piece of hand or stomach, watching with morbid curiosity as it caught flame. She didn’t move, not even as the fire crept higher, engulfing the pile of what used to be a man. She stayed until all that remained of the former predator was ash, until the flames tried to creep towards her over the grass. It wasn’t until the man reached forward and quickly doused the flames that she was startled out of her reverie.

Bella stood then, wondering if he would kill her now. Maybe he’d only wanted to be rid of any competition for her blood, she’d been told it smelled delicious. But no, she thought, there’d been no need to kill Laurent if he’d just wanted her to himself. Laurent had been scared enough to run.

He didn’t say anything, simply cocking a smirk when she handed the lighter back to him. A silence fell down over them, and it was almost comfortable for a second. She wasn’t scared, not the way she’d been scared of Laurent. There was something about him that put her at ease.

''Let me drive you home,'' he said eventually, looking at her with something akin to understanding. Not pity, at least, she thought with relief. She loathed pity. ''My mother would be horrified with my manners if I didn’t see to your safe return.''

And because of the glint in his eyes, or the smirk on his lips, or even the sheer fact that the comment was horribly inappropriate mere minutes after he’d torn a man apart with his bare hands, she let a smile cross her face as she slowly nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, a few household announcements.  
> 1\. I'm moving the Twilight timeline up to match with TVD. This occurs during New Moon, and just after TVD 2x1. Anything after that is non-canon-compliant.  
> 2\. I've tagged it already, but there is going to be self-harm, and violence, and death, and all the nasty stuff in this story. Please be aware of that while reading.  
> 3\. Cutting yourself is not a solution, it's just a symptom of the problem you're trying to solve. I am in no way saying any of this is okay. Please, if you are considering self-harm or practising self-harm, tell someone. They will help you.  
> 4\. I'm looking for a Beta Reader, if anyone would be willing to tackle me :)
> 
> With that being said, thank you ever so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Damon looked at the girl in front of him – Bella, the Cold One had called her – and smirked a bit at the small smile that crossed her face. It said a lot, he thought, that she could smile at him after what he’d just done. She certainly didn’t seem upset he’d saved her life.

_‘Unlike some others,’_ he thought bitterly, quickly shaking the thought away. He wouldn’t allow himself to give into that thought. It wasn’t worth his time. Instead, he looked at the girl before him, allowing his eyes to examine her face.

Thin, incredibly so, with large bags under her eyes. Her skin seemed dry, her lips cracked all over. She obviously hadn’t been sleeping well, probably eating and drinking even less. Hardly surprising, since it was her scream that had led him there in the first place.

He shuddered a bit, remembering very clearly how her scream cut through the music in his car, making him nearly crash on the road. It was filled with pain, emotional pain, and something else. It had been awful, and he couldn’t have helped himself if he’d wanted to, he had to go investigate.

But underneath her pale pallor, underneath the bags and the skin stretched over bones, she was beautiful. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty competitions, that was true, but only because those vain sons-of-bitches wouldn’t appreciate beauty as subtle as hers.

Her brown locks had a bit of spring in them, even though she’d obviously neglected showering and eating for a while, taking away its strength and shine. Her eyes, while red-rimmed and half-lidded, had a fierce strength in them. And their colour made him think of chocolate and woods and log cabins. Her lips were thin, a brilliant red underneath the cracks. Her skin was paler than normal, he didn’t doubt that, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of Snow White.

There was a beautiful woman, buried beneath a broken and crumbling façade. Even now, she shone through, the few rays he saw brilliant and blinding. But she wasn’t taking care of herself, and with every day that passed her beauty was pushed down further. One day, perhaps one day soon, the damage to this beautiful face would be permanent.

He couldn’t let that happen now, could he?

* * *

 

He followed her easily for a while, watching as she either curled her arms around her own stomach as if trying to keep from falling apart or touched every tree they passed, grounding herself where she was. She was a curious creature, beautiful and broken, and Damon found himself getting attached rapidly.

She was also clumsy, as he found out early on. She’d fallen twice within the first five minutes, but his vampire speed easily allowed him to catch her before she landed. She seemed a bit embarrassed that he had to, and he shot a smirk at her and called out one quip or another just to make her relax a bit.

He also tried to keep her mind occupied, not allowing her to dwell in the silence and forget about him. He didn’t start spouting off deep, personal secrets – that was Stefan’s forte, thank you very much – and instead decided to lightly talk about his car, the road he’d taken, the forest…

It was his distraction that allowed her to fall the third time. It wasn’t a hard fall – just a stumble over a fallen log – but she tensed anyway, scrambling backwards and turning to face Damon. She looked like a doe caught in the headlights, he thought, beautiful and graceful, but terrified of being unable to escape its fate.

He’d smelled the blood the moment she’d fallen, of course. He figured she was scared he’d lose control, she must’ve had some knowledge of what he was. He almost scoffed at the thought – a Vampire who fed regularly had no fear of losing control. It was only the idiots like his brother, who denied their nature and stuck to a _diet_ that lost control at the sight of blood.

He didn’t approach her, instead crouching down so he wouldn’t look as intimidating. For some reason, he really didn’t want her to be scared of him. Plenty of people feared the sight of him, he didn’t need her to.

“It’s just a scratch,” he assured her lightly, knowing just from the amount of blood he smelled that it couldn’t be a lot. Seeing that she didn’t seem to be calming down any, he gave her a light smirk. “You know, I’m quite offended. I’m not a drug-addict, you know. I don’t lose it.”

That seemed to startle her a bit. He wasn’t sure if it was the admittedly bad attempt at humour, the tone of his voice or just something he said, but he was quite happy when she responded. Even if her voice was rough from misuse. He shuddered just a bit, remembering the scream that had seemed to pierce through the music in his car, nearly making him crash into a tree.

“You don’t?” Her voice was small, and now she was biting her bottom lip softly, as if thinking hard about something. “I… I thought…” She trailed off, apparently unable to say it, but he got the gist of it anyway.

“The Cold Ones do,” he agreed after a moment, moving so he was sitting on the ground and leaning against a tree trunk. “Their instincts are always fighting for control. But my kind, we can control ourselves quite well. I’m no danger to you.” Seeing her look of baffled confusion, he couldn’t have stopped a small smile if he’d wanted to. “How about we get you somewhere warm, and I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

* * *

 

Bella clutched his jacket close as they walked, shivering a bit nonetheless. He’d noticed that she’d seemed to be without a jacket, and offered her his without a second thought. This prompted a question from her, and he certainly didn’t mind answering. Her mind was a beautiful thing, but he didn’t like that she always seemed lost in it.

“I don’t get cold,” he answered easily, following her lead through the forest, though he’d already noticed they were going in circles. He’d wait till she said something about it. “I feel the differences in temperature, and I prefer it to be nice, but there are no negative effects from being out in the cold.”

She only seemed more curious at that, and he allowed her the silence this time, practically able to see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She was brilliant, he could see that, though he doubted a small town like this would’ve done much to foster her brilliance.

It took another fifteen minutes for her to admit defeat, a bright blush on her cheeks as she explained that she was lost. He shot her an amused smirk, raising on eyebrow as she stammered explanations about just having realized it and having been lost in thought on the way here. He let her go on for a moment, amused, before stopping her.

“I know.”

Damon smirked at her dumbfounded expression, her brows furrowing in confusion for a moment. He didn’t let her dwell on his words for too long: moving quickly, he scooped her up bridal style and began following her original scent. He gave her a wink at the muffled squeal, though she might not have been able to see it with her own eyes clenched shut.

They were at the car in two minutes, though calling her red monstrosity a _car_ was generous. “Absolutely not,” he told her, not bothering to put her down just yet. Apparently, they’d be running again soon anyway. “I am not getting in that thing.”

Bella scowled at him, wriggled to be let go but finding no lenience there. “It’s my car,” she said defensively, her scowl only growing fiercer at his scoff. He had to admit he was impressed by her fire. “You should respect your elders.”

Though she’d said it almost mechanically, he could hear an undertone of amusement there, as if she’d said it more often and in more pleasant tones.

“That’s entirely the problem,” he told her, giving her an unimpressed look. While he was happy with the way she was reacting, he refused to budge. He wouldn’t be driving that _thing_. “I absolutely refuse to drive a car that’s older than me.”

Bella managed a smile at that before her eyes dropped down again. She’d seemed to accept that she couldn’t get free, at least. She wasn’t struggling any more. “I like it,” she said defensively, frowning at him. “You don’t need to drive it. I can.”

* * *

 

Damon had stood his ground, of course. As a vampire, he was by definition near-impossible to kill, and definitely not by a simple car crash. Still, he refused to put his faith and his life – as well as the life of the woman next to him – in the hands of a wreck that looked more in place in the garbage than on the road.

Which was, of course, how he ended up on the passengers’ side of the red Chevy, watching her get it startled. He nearly winced at the deafening roar, glaring at her. This wasn’t a car, it was creative suicide. It looked about ready to fall apart, and he’d be seriously impressed if it went over thirty.

Bella paid no mind to his murderous gaze, keeping her eyes on the road as she drove to her home. He was inclined to be grateful, he would not be happy if she got him into a car crash.

He idly reached forward to turn on the radio, wanting to fill the somewhat uncomfortable silence with whatever CD she happened to have. She twitched, the car swerving violently for a moment before she regained control of it. She didn’t say anything to stop him, but he got the message well enough.

“What the hell?” he bit out, grabbing the door handle tightly. She stayed silent, her eyes fixed firmly on the road, but he could see her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, and he could see how she’d tensed all over. He backed away from the radio, giving her a curious look. After a moment of debating with himself, he decided not to ask. Not while he was in the car with her driving, anyway.

They reached her home without any further near-accidents, which in his mind was definitely impressive. He followed her to the door, raising an eyebrow when she walked into the living room. Damon leaned against the door, waiting for her to notice his predicament. He wasn’t sure if she just didn’t know – he didn’t think Cold Ones had to be invited in – or if she was playing with him.

It took her a couple of minutes to notice, which said a lot about her mental state. She’d been lost in thought, staring at the tv, before startling up when he finally lost his patience and let out a pointed cough.

“My kind needs to be invited in,” he explained, smirking at her startled look. At her muttered invitation he joined her in the house, lightly closing the door behind him. Since she still seemed somewhat lost in thought, and he figured she might be in shock from almost being Cold One lunch, he wandered into the kitchen to make the both of them some tea.

When he got back with two cups of tea and some of the cookies he’d seen in the cabinet, she gave him a questioning look. He didn’t answer anything this time, nudging her into an armchair and pointedly handing over one of the cups. She was still shivering from being out in the forest – maybe he shouldn’t have let her wander for half an hour.

“You can eat?” she asked, and he shot her an amused smirk as he simply took a large gulp of tea. She seemed to watch him carefully for a moment, apparently looking for something, and nodded when she got whatever confirmation she had been expecting. He almost expected her to pull out a notebook and start writing, but mercifully, she did no such thing.

“Our kind is different from the Cold Ones,” he explained after a moment, leaning backwards. “It’s almost an affront to call them Vampires, really. Their kind is laughable.”

She only seemed more questioning, and with a deep sigh, Damon readied himself for an afternoon of Q&A. He couldn’t stifle a smirk, however, at her first question. Both surprising and brave.

“Why did you save me?”


End file.
